The Pleasure of A Picture

There are few things that give me greater pleasure than taking pictures of the people and events in my corner of the world.  Except possibly sharing those shots with others. Though my status as an amateur photographer will most likely never change, I try to wring the most out of the opportunity as much as my ability and time constraints allow.  Sometimes, getting the best shot, the one frame which captures the mood, the moment, the must-see-ability, requires clicking off a number of pictures.  Digital technology makes this easier than ever, without all of the waste that film often incurs.  You try and try again.  Hoping for perfection but knowing that rarely happens.  Usually, something a bit better comes along.  Perfect can be rather dull.

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You start with one.  Kind of a warm-up.  Get a feel for what you hope to convey.

Here, it is important for me to forever record what it was to tug my mom around 

in her rollator while we both held our heads up high.

We're at the mall.  My Ashley is in charge of the Canon.

I'm in charge of directing her work.

"No, that's not it.  Keep snapping as I walk."

"You say I'm walking too fast?  Well, let me

PRETEND to walk . . . like this."

Mom's smile is still in place.

I decide that perhaps the other side of the entrance has better lighting.

Mom's smile is beginning to stiffen.  

My daughter wants to hand the camera back to me.

I'm still trying for just the right shot!

"How about THIS angle, Ashley?

Are you close enough . . . we need to FILL the frame!"

Mom's smile looks more like a grimace.

"Wait, this may be our better side!

Does it look like I'm walking?  My foot is cramping."

My smile has grown.

Mom's appears to have LEFT the building.

I think we all get the idea -- she's been tugged around enough!

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Then, there are those impromptu sessions which most likely amuse or disturb my neighbors in the early AM hours when the light is fresh and the birds are blissful in their song and habits.  I grab the Canon for a quick stalk-n-shoot.  Wrapped in my purple animal-print robe.  Wild morning hair shooting out at odd angles.  Crouched in my purple Crocs.  Waiting.  Focusing.  Holding my breath.  And smiling from ear to ear in my delight.  Because TRYING for just the right shot is sometimes as enjoyable as finding success at the end of my efforts.

I know that Cardinals are skittish.  And I've observed my hunter cat enough to understand stealth.  So, I wait for him to turn his head before I move one step closer.  And another.  And another. Looking through my viewfinder, I try to quickly find him and zoom in, angling to avoid large branches which might steal the focus.  This male is quite caught up in his romance with the female just out of shot range.  Their calls rise and fall in that charming musical collections of titters and trills which are responsible for causing me to fall in love with Tennessee so many years ago.

On this outing, sandwiched between setting the recyclables on the curb and packing my husband's lunch for work, my attempts to preserve an image of this gorgeous bird amongst the bright green of my weeping willow's new spring buds is unsuccessful.  He's a bit jumpy despite my catlike reflexes (hah, Crocs and a full robe do NOT lend themselves to stealth).  But the fact that I allowed myself to follow through with my impulse instead of ignoring it pleases me.  Admiring this handsome fellow in the throes of romance has been sweet.  I only wish Gayla had been around to shoot a picture of the large purple bird lumbering on the lawn, darting from tree to tree, resembling, for all the world, ME!

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Every now and again, though, you nail it.

There's detail and thirds and foreground.

And to see it is to be moved.

The image conveys a season.

It has the power to disperse the clouds . . . 

and let the sunshine in.

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And for me, folks, whether it be through words or image, THAT is my desire, my drive, my one true thing: to let the sunshine in and share it with whomever I can.  Whenever I may.